A faint noise made me glance around. Margaret was red-faced with anger. She cried, ‘Many women were heavy with child or suckled small babies. They were feeding two mouths. They needed more food, not less. If those babies and children had been properly fed, many more might have lived.’
She burst into loud sobs. Through her tears she managed to tell us that she had given birth while on board ship, but that her baby had died shortly after they left Cape Town.
This time Abel did not attempt to silence her. Even the Lieutenant fell silent. I think he has a kinder heart than he would have had us believe. I placed my arms around Margaret and whispered, ‘This also happened to my friend Sarah. Her baby was stillborn.’
Still tearful, Margaret managed a smile. ‘But I am once more with child.’ She patted her swollen belly. Though she hangs onto Abel’s arm and looks into his eyes, deep inside I think that she has as much fire as Sarah and will suffer as little nonsense. Suddenly I heard a crackling noise. It came from behind me. I sprang to my feet, and shouted a warning. Someone was creeping up on us …
My Master has decided that Emily is well enough for us to continue our journey. He calls to me to quickly gather our belongings together.
Sydney Cove
Tuesday 18th May
We are presently settled in our new home, and I have much to say about that. But first I must finish recording last Sunday’s adventure.
Someone had crept up on us.
I shouted a warning.
The men rushed to my side.
‘Watch for the pony,’ the Lieutenant yelled. ‘Someone is trying to steal it.’
Sure enough, a convict had crept to where Patch was tethered. He tried to lead her away. As the men came bearing down on him, he bared his teeth and stood ready to do battle.
Before the convict’s fists could land, Lieutenant Collins hit him over the head with his musket.
The convict moaned and crumpled to the ground.
A deathly silence followed.
‘You’ve killed him,’ Margaret shrieked.
We stood there, too horrified to speak.
But no, the convict sat up nursing his head. Abel set about tying the thief’s hands behind his back. My Master stood over him waving his staff.
‘Not again,’ the convict whimpered. ‘Don’t hit me again.’
‘Why not?’ my Master said sternly. ‘You were stealing our pony. You deserve to be punished.’
‘I’m hungry,’ the convict whimpered. ‘I ain’t had nothing in me stomach all week. Me rations were all stole. I need vittles or I’ll die.’
Poor Patch. She might have a running sore on her right front leg and limp very badly, but she does not deserve to be anyone’s dinner.
I glanced at my Master. Even though I know him to be the kindest soul in Port Jackson, his next move astonished even me. ‘Let the villain go,’ he told Abel. ‘He can no longer harm us.’ This was the truth, as the fellow could no more fight anyone than swim back to England.
Abel shook his head. ‘He’ll only steal someone else’s goods.’ And to the convict, ‘You knows what happens to horse thieves? They strings them up.’ He turned to us. ‘How about we teach this scoundrel a lesson?’
At this the convict set up such a hue and cry, I had to remind myself that he was not the only one who was famished. My Master’s sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones showed how hungry he was. Still he insisted that we free the man, arguing that lack of food forces folk into committing foolish crimes.
Abel reluctantly did as my Master suggested.
Now the convict thanked us over and over again. ‘Listen, my poor fellow,’ my Master said. ‘If you do not want us to take you back to the militia—and they will surely string you up—you had best be on your way.’
The convict cried his thanks. Before you could say ‘Port Jackson’, he had disappeared into the bush.
My Master sighed aloud. ‘This is not a good sign of what we will find in Sydney Cove,’ he told the Lieutenant. ‘Have we sunk into mutiny already?’
The Lieutenant shook his head and could give no proper answer.
In the morning we farewelled Abel and Margaret. The Lieutenant and ourselves were travelling to Sydney Cove, they to Rose Hill. But not before I asked Margaret to report to Sarah that I am well, but missing her most dreadfully.
Margaret had seen me writing in my journal, and she wanted to know why I did not send Sarah a letter? Most reluctantly, I explained that Sarah could not read.
‘Nor me,’ Margaret said gravely. ‘It is a grave fault that must surely be remedied. One day you must show us how.’
I promised her that I would, and at the very first chance.
We went on our way. Soon the track grew wider.
But the way was so churned up Patch’s front legs sank into the mud. Several times we had to stop in order to help her out.
I would have thought that we had had quite enough adventures. But there were more to come. A mile further, the track narrowed so much we were forced to walk in single file. Winston led our group. I was just behind.
Suddenly something long and brown slithered across the path.
The creature raised its head. It was ready to strike.
Remembering Old Tom’s warnings about venomous snakes, I let out a mighty yell.
Winston leapt into the air and fell backwards. My Master held up his stick and brought it down on the wicked creature. He struck it often enough to kill it.
As we stood there inspecting the remains, my heart thumped as if it might jump out of my chest. My Master stood there, breathing heavily. Then he turned to me saying, ‘Well done, Scheherazade. Without your quick action, Winston might now be dead. He owes you his life.’
He waited for Winston to thank me—which I thought that he did most grudgingly—and we continued on our way.
Now we were passing cleared areas where timber had recently been felled. Sitting amongst the stumps were one-room huts. They had not been there the last time I came through.
Emily’s chest was so much stronger. Riding on Winston’s shoulders, she could not stop asking questions. As we walked, my Master explained to her how wattle walls are hung onto a frame, then covered with mud and finished with a thin coat of pipeclay.
We walked another half-hour before reaching Sydney Cove. There we came to the Governor’s house. My Master had planned to call in to deliver certain tidings from Rose Hill. But so many people were waiting to see Governor Phillip, he decided to return a little later.
We were most impressed with the Governor’s two-storey dwelling. It is built with the first bricks from Brickfields. My Master pointed to the gardens surrounding the house where many fruit trees and vegetables had been planted. He thought they set a great example to this colony.
A little further on, we came to the officer’s house in which we were to live. Here half a dozen children, the bigger tugging the smaller by their hands, hurried towards us. Half-naked and with weepy eyes, running noses and protruding bellies, they pointed to their mouths, demanding that we give them food. Though we are desperately short ourselves, my Master handed them the last of our johnnycakes. Then he shooed them away.
I would have liked to ask him what he expected us to eat, but one look at his grave face and I did not dare.
I set about unpacking and making the room as comfortable as possible. Though Winston hardly opens his mouth to me except when absolutely necessary, he carried the heavier packages into the hut. For this I was grateful. But he always makes it clear that any friendship between us is out of the question. As this is only to be expected, why does it bother me so much?
This hut is quite superior to Master Dodd’s house in Rose Hill. From the doorway I can see the storehouses and then out to the harbour. If a sail appears in the harbour, I might be the first to sight it.
Outside our door there is a patch cleared of tree stumps that will make an excellent vegetable garden.
I intend to dig it over and ask my Master for seeds.
> Travelling even the short distance between here and Rose Hill is tiresome. I hope that we will stay here awhile, even though I miss Sarah most sorely.
Wednesday 19th May
I am writing everything down so that you, Edward, will know every place I have seen and how I presently live.
Sydney Cove is grey and scrubby. It looks out into the harbour and across at the hills on the other side. Many of the convicts’ huts have been built on rocks. They are so ramshackle their foundations must cling like limpets or a strong wind will surely send them into the water.
But we are more fortunate. This officer’s house where I now live is far more permanent. Four sturdy wooden posts have been set in the ground to support a grooved timber frame. The walls are vertical slabs, the cracks filled with mud. The roof is made of timber shingles fixed to the battens with wooden pegs. Our chimney is built from the same brick as the Governor’s house. I am very proud of our door. It has leather hinges so it can open and close more easily.
The bush behind our hut is grey and scrubby. At night, our candles and oil lamps attract moths big as birds and monstrous black beetles that go clickety-clack against our walls. There are also dozens of possums and large furry bats. My Master says that because no-one farms or owns this land, all animals are free to roam wherever they might wish.
First thing this morning, I opened my eyes to a giant black spider sitting on the pallet beside my head. As the spider scuttled away, I shrieked and sprang to my feet.
My Master raised his head, his eyes fuzzy with sleep. ‘What’s the matter?’
I burst into tears. Bad enough to wake to such a monster, now I had incurred my Master’s wrath.
‘There is so much here that frightens me,’ I finally managed.
He reached out a comforting hand. ‘Do not allow yourself to get so upset. Nothing here is permanent. We will not be staying here forever.’
At least the weather is kind. Though it is almost winter, the midday sun warms us. My Master spent all day and most of the night in the hospital. This hospital is little more than a dispensary where he treats the sick with herbs and much use of leeches and purging. He tells me that he has not been forced to saw off any limbs. I suppose that is some comfort for having to care for his patients in what is, after all, only a tent.
Winston disappeared in the direction of the barracks almost as soon as we arrived. The militia practise marching to the fife and drum. They have no ammunition, and little to do except shoulder their muskets and try to look as warlike as possible.
As for myself, I have many chores. I had to fetch water from the Tank Stream twice today. It is so far to walk when Emily is not well and I must piggyback her.
Thursday 20 May
Emily’s reading goes well. She can recognise many words. She tells me that she would like to read the Bible. But my Master tells me that in all of Port Jackson we have only one Bible & one prayer book. Perchance this is no great loss. Those books have many long words, and her reading is not yet good enough.
Once her lessons are over, I must find new ways to keep her occupied. This is not difficult. People still go about their business, though with a little less willingness than if they had full bellies. How we long to sight a sail. Everyone thinks that any loud noise, such as thunder or a tree being felled, is the cannon announcing a ship’s arrival. They race in great excitement towards the wharves only to be just as quickly disappointed.
There is a hill not far from here where we get an excellent view of the harbour. It will be our favourite place to settle. When Emily’s lessons are over, and the housework done, we will come here to gaze out to the harbour. Emily longs to be the first to sight a sail.
This morning, we set off to explore this colony. Turning left we walked past the storehouse—it has a canvas roof and timber walls—and set off towards the wharves. As we got closer, the path became so steep it was hard not to slip and fall. On the wharf, a group of men were casting lines. Several small fish lay between them. They must have thought that we had come to steal their catch because they shouted at us to stay away. As we took off, I heard them quarrelling amongst themselves.
My Master reports that lack of food makes people tired and irritable. Perchance he is right. If I ask Emily to put on her boots or her cap, she weeps and refuses.
We hurried inland. From here we could see more forest. Dark mountains hover on the horizon. I shiver whenever I look at them. They are a curious colour—purple or maybe dark blue—like nothing I could ever have imagined, not even in my dreams. Surely dragons and one-eyed monsters lurk in those ridges and valleys.
As we hurried towards the river, we heard banging from the forge, soldiers drilling at the barracks to the fife and drum, people calling to each other as they carried water to their huts.
Soon we came to a timber bridge. Here a crowd, dressed in the most ragged excuse I have ever seen for clothes, was quickly gathering. What I first thought was a prayer gathering turned out to be a seaman perched on a tree shouting, ‘You tells us why the Governor gives as much vittles to the convicts as to us freemen. Most of them are no better than Indians, and don’t deserve the same rations …’
A fellow, tall and brawny and almost certainly a convict, stepped out from the crowd to snarl, ‘Who says?’
‘I does!’ the seaman retorted, though he was thin as a whippet and would barely reach the other’s chest.
The convict pulled the seaman to the ground and set about teaching him a lesson. Several onlookers objected, and a free-for-all broke out. To add to the confusion, some militiamen standing by decided to subdue the crowd with the ends of their muskets.
Emily and I watched all this from a safe distance. When the fight seemed to be heading our way, I piggybacked Emily past the male convict huts towards the barracks. She has long wished to visit Winston. Instead we ran into Mistress Isabella Lawson who had sailed with me on the Lady Penrhyn.
The good mistress greeted me most warmly. Then she wanted to know how Sarah was? And what Government Farm was like? And was it true that we were living there like kings? And did we really eat six big meals a day? And when would we start sending food back to Sydney Cove?
Before I could explain how things were not so much better in Rose Hill, we were joined by Mistress Jane Chapman, also bound for the barracks. She carried a basket—it had a fishy smell—it was probably for someone in the militia, though she would not say who this was. Jane has a well-known weakness for rum. I was sure that she intended trading her basket’s contents for something more potent.
The women set about gossiping. First they spoke about the convict Mary Bryant who had recently escaped from Port Jackson by boat.
Then the women moved on to Governor Phillip. Seems that our Governor, though an excellent seaman and administrator, had never obtained a post worthy of his talents. Isabella thought it had something to do with him missing a front tooth. Jane sighed wistfully. ‘It’s said that he earns five hundred pounds for running this colony. What I could do with that money …’
I said, ‘Even a thousand guineas will not buy you food where there is none.’
‘Lizzie’s right!’ Jane exclaimed.
By now Emily had heard enough. She kicked my ribs, insisting that I go into the barracks and find Winston. I did so reluctantly. Has not Sarah always warned me to stay away from places where men gather?
To my relief Winston saw us as soon as we walked into the barracks. He offered to carry Emily home. She is always thrilled to see him. As she managed to chatter all the way there, I could tell that she was breathing more easily.
Friday 21st May
Today Emily refused to do her lessons. I told my Master and he said that we should take two days’ holiday. I carried a stick in one hand, and Emily clung to the other. Together, we have been exploring the colony.
Walking helps us ignore our rumbling bellies. Governor Phillip has further reduced our rations. Now one week’s food for each person is a pound of pork and a pound of rice. We must eke t
his out with whatever else we can find. Many are eating rats, birds, possums, even snakes. Some have managed to grow a few vegetables. I have planted seeds—potatoes, lettuce, parsnips & carrots—in a wooden box that my Master found for me.
My Master is fortunate in that vegetables are offered to him in exchange for his services. Yesterday he came home with an excellent cabbage, some half-grown carrots and six potatoes—though these were green and gave us diarrhoea. My Master says folk complain that they are too weak to do a proper day’s work. He tells me that if an officer invites another to dinner, that the visitor cannot come unless he brings his own food.
From what I have seen, there is little in this settlement to admire. As each day drags by, people must pull their belts a little tighter. Chests are hollow. Arms and legs are like sticks. Hair falls out in clumps. Teeth become shaky.
Hunger sinks a person’s eyes into their sockets. Hunger gives even the most hardened criminal a wistful expression. If anyone carries a little extra flesh, he or she is accused of stealing food. At the same time many women are heavy with child. It seems that by next summer, instead of reaping oats and corn and potatoes as we should be doing, we shall be birthing babies.
Not that the children look any better than their parents. Ragged, lice-ridden and with swollen bellies, many have dreadful coughs and running noses. Some are orphans. These have formed small gangs of thieves as excellent at their trade as any in London. But word has gone out that Surgeon Russell has food. Each time I walk outside, I am approached by groups of children who beg and beg most piteously. I feel very sorry for them. But I have nothing to spare.
Saturday 22nd May
Yesterday as we walked along the shore, I noticed folk gathering shellfish. So this morning at low tide, Emily and I walked along the shore. I used a sharp knife to prise oysters and mussels from the rocks. Emily pulls a face whenever I insist that she eat her share. I tell her that if she swallows very quickly, she will begin to enjoy them.
Surviving Sydney Cove Page 8
